There is an asterisk

Bridget Kriner

inside me, not an omission but a lapse

in deep time–its six spiny arms dredge my silt,

abrade my landscapes, form striations, expose

gaps in my fossil record. See, I come from

codependence, from what she was running

from. A glacier has two zones–

accumulation & ablation–bisected by

an equilibrium line. It never pulls taut.

It passes through me before history,

before library shelves buckled from the weight

of lies. Back then I could only stand frozen,

turn the crank, watch the accordion expand

to make space for the lithe mortal animal

I once was, then contract like connotations

parse. See, anger is not rage. What I am trying to say,

attempting to mean, through my breath cloudy

with synonyms & choices.

I want to break myself against

the promontory– snap, fracture, splinter apart.

When ice

ssures from a

oe into water, it's called calving.

Caveats persist like sleep crust in the canthus

of my eye I cannot dislodge. See, I know

he only happened upon me & decided to stay.

I know not to confuse his crawling pace

with reluctance. Or fear with worry & unease

I know it is just a furious longing

for safety. He mistook me for a buoy,

for a mooring strong enough

to keep him from running aground.